


A Boyish Soul

by sherlockian4evr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Daddy!John, Established Relationship, Laughter, Lisping Sherlock, M/M, Male Slash, Orgasm, Plush Bee, Porn, Prompt Fill, Rimming, Ticklish Sherlock, little!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>"You're a dirty little boy, Sherlock."</p><p>John/Sherlock ageplay. Because I can't believe this meme doesn't have ageplay on it already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Boyish Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Age play, Anal beads and Ankle cuffs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919287) by [Sherlock1110](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110). 



Sherlock sat on the sofa, legs crossed and hands folded under his chin. They had wrapped up a case just the day before and nothing else seemed to be in the offing. He didn’t have what he needed for any of his planned experiments and he couldn’t be arsed to go out and procure the proper materials. So, he was performing a bit of housecleaning in his Mind Palace. Most of the details of their last case were mundane and didn’t deserve to be preserved but there had been the bit with the pickle. Sherlock entered the industrial kitchen where he stored cooking and case-related information.

“Sherlock.”

He erected a pedestal…

“Sherlock.”

…sat a symbolic pickle atop it…

“Sherlock!”

… and illuminated it with its own small spotlight.

“SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock blinked his eyes open then snapped his head up to glare at John, who was stood in the centre of the living room. John’s arms were crossed and he wore a glower that was of Sherlockian proportions. Sherlock racked his brain, but he couldn’t think of any reason for John to be upset with him. He had put the snake heads in their container and had even stored them on the ‘experiments’ shelf of the refrigerator. “…John?” he asked, cautiously.

John shook his head and tutted. "You're a dirty little boy, Sherlock."

Oh! John wanted to play. A little shiver travelled from Sherlock’s head to his toes. He uncrossed his legs and his entire posture softened. The forefinger of his right hand made its way to the corner of his mouth where he bit it. In a small, childlike voice, Sherlock answered, “Yeth, Daddy.”

“Dirty little boys have to take a bath. Come with Daddy and I’ll bathe you.” John held out his hand expectantly and Sherlock stood and wandered over to take it. They proceeded through the kitchen and down the short hallway to the loo. John stepped through the doorway, but Sherlock balked. “Lockie, What’s wrong?”

Sherlock scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor and dropped his head. He looked up through his lashes shyly and explained, “I don’t want a bath.”

“Why not?”

Eyes wide in feigned fear, Sherlock answered, “I’m afraid of the water. I can’t thwim and I might drown.”

John patted his cheek indulgently. “That’s okay, Lockie. We can use the shower instead.”

Sherlock pulled against John’s hand, trying to get away. “No, Daddy. Pleath. When the water fallth it’th like the wain and ther’th thunder when it wains and I don’t like the thunder.”

“Now, now, Lockie. I have to bathe you.” John smoothed back the curls from Sherlock’s forehead. “I know. You go to your room, like a good boy, and take off your clothes and wait for me. I’ll get what I need and give you a nice sponge bath. How does that sound?”

Nodding frantically, Sherlock readily agreed. “Yeth, Daddy. I like that. I like thonge batheth.” Letting go of John’s hand, Sherlock hopped along to his room. Once there, he obediently stripped, then he went down on his knees and crawled to the bedside table. Opening the bottom drawer, he pulled out a bright, plush bee which he promptly brought to his mouth. He popped one of the bee’s legs into his mouth and sucked on it while he waited.

Very shortly, John appeared. He was wearing absolutely nothing, but carried two soft flannels and a bowl of warm water, which he placed atop the bedside table. “Very good, little Lockie. You did just what I asked. You’re such a good little boy.” He patted the bed. “Now, hop up here and lay on your tummy for me.”

Sherlock climbed onto the bed, bee still hanging from his mouth and stretched out on his stomach. John sat next to him, dampened the flannel and started stroking the backs of his arms.

The bee fell to the bed with a soft plunk as Sherlock answered, “Hmm. Feelth good, Daddy.”

“It’s supposed to feel good. Now, hush and let me bathe you.” John washed Sherlock’s hands, his feet and then he started on the back of his left leg. When he reached the tender flesh at the back of Sherlock’s knee, his charge jerked his leg away. He swatted Sherlock’s arse and ordered, “Stay still, Lockie.”

“But it ticklth, Daddy,” Sherlock complained.

“I know it tickles. If you didn’t want it to tickle, you shouldn’t have got dirty, but you did and now Daddy has to get you clean.” Sherlock pouted but stayed still. His other knee got the same treatment and Sherlock jerked slightly, but didn’t pull away. “Good boy, Lockie.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” A few more swipes of the damp cloth over his legs were followed by stokes along his back.

“How does that feel, Lockie?”

“Good, Daddy. It makth me thweepy.” Sherlock gave an exaggerated yawn and once again regarded John with wide eyes.

John smiled. “Let me wake you up then. It’s not bedtime yet.”

So saying, John drew the flannel between the round globes of Sherlock’s pale arse. Sherlock’s lifted it into the air and whinged. “No fair, Daddy. That ticklth the moth of all.”

After a few more swipes along his crack, John tossed the flannel to the floor. He knelt up behind Sherlock’s lifted arse, parted his pert cheeks and leaned in to lick at Sherlock’s hole.

“D… D… Daddy? What are you doing, Daddy,” Sherlock asked.

“I’m making the tickle go away, Lockie,” John hummed. “Does it feel better than the tickle?”

“Oh, yeth, Daddy,” Sherlock moaned. “It feelth tho good. I wike it, Daddy. Pleath don’t thop.”

John’s tongue flicked out and licked around the edges of the dark little pucker. It teased, licked and dipped in at the entrance. His teeth nibbled and his lips sucked. Sherlock whimpered and pressed back into him, wanting more, but John stopped.

“Why did you thop,” Sherlock whinged.

With a wicked grin, John explained, “You were getting too excited, Lockie, and when you get excited, you make a mess.”

The pout was very evident in Sherlock’s reply. “But, I won’t make a meth thith time. I pwomith!”

Another warning swat landed on Sherlock’s arse. “We haven’t finished your bath, yet. Turn over for me,” John ordered.

Sherlock complied, though his lower lip was stuck out around the leg of the plush bee which had made its way to his mouth once more.

Dipping a second flannel into the cooling water, John washed the fronts of Sherlock’s legs, his arms and his chest. When he swiped the cloth between Sherlock’s legs and along his perineum, then over his bollocks, Sherlock squealed and complained, “Daddy! You’re tickling me again.”

John used both hands to bathe Sherlock’s cock. When he reached the head, he retracted the foreskin and dutifully cleaned the head.

The plush bee fell to the bed once more. “Daddy! Make the tickling thop!”

“Like this,” John asked. He tossed the flannel on the floor alongside the first, then fondled Sherlock’s bollocks with one hand. He kept a firm grip on Sherlock’s cock with the other and, with one smooth motion, engulfed it in its entirety with his warm mouth.

“Yeth! Yeth, Daddy! Yeth!”

Sherlock’s hips bucked up of their own volition and John used one hand to press him back onto the bed. John bobbed his head up and down along Sherlock’s swollen cock, enjoying its smooth texture. When he pulled back, he swiped his tongue over the slit. The taste of precome was sharp in his mouth. Parting his lips, he let Sherlock’s cock drop and it plopped against his abdomen.

“Daddy, I’m going to make a meth. You thaid you don’t want me to make a meth, but I can’t help it.”

“Daddy’s going to make sure that you don’t get dirty when you get all excited, don’t worry,” John reassured him then he took Sherlock into his mouth again. Just a few more bobs, licks and a little hum in the back of his throat and Sherlock was coming in John’s mouth. He swallowed quickly, over and over, and didn’t spill a drop. Smugly, he told Sherlock, “See, little Lockie. You’re still nice and clean.”

“Yeth, Daddy.” Sherlock’s brow knitted artfully in feigned confusion. “But, Daddy. You made me feel tho good and look at you, Daddy. Your thingy is tho hard.” Sherlock stuck the bee’s leg into his mouth once more and sucked.

John reached up and pulled the bee from between Sherlock’s pink lips. “I’ve told you, over and over, not to suck on Mr. Bee’s leg, Lockie.”

Sherlock looked away shyly. “I know, Daddy. But I need thomething to thuck.” He was looking pointedly at John’s cock, now.

“You want to suck it, Lockie?”

“Yeth, Daddy. Pleath,” Sherlock pleaded, his face the picture of innocence.

“Alright then, Lockie. You can suck on it.”

When Sherlock took John into his mouth, ‘Daddy’ momentarily left the room. “God, Sherlock, that mouth!”

Sherlock pulled off of him and pouted. “What did you thay, Daddy?”

“Sorry, Lockie. It just felt so nice when you did that. Don’t mind Daddy.”

Sherlock smiled innocently, then attacked him with renewed vigour. His technique was different than John’s. He could hold his breath for an incredibly long time. As a result, there were very few breaks in the stimulation and John found himself on the edge of coming far too soon. “Lockie, be careful,” he breathed, “I’m going to make a mess soon.”

Sherlock looked up at him and continued his ministrations, driving John over the brink. His cock pulsed, his body trembled and he shot streams of semen into Sherlock’s waiting mouth. When he had finished, Sherlock sat up, wiped one hand over his mouth and laughed.

“God, John! That was beautiful. You’re beautiful,” Sherlock pronounced in his rumbling baritone.

John joined in with Sherlock’s continued laughter. “Was that good for my little boy, then?”

“Exceedingly,” Sherlock pronounced.

They collapsed on the bed, still giggling, then fell into a quiet slumber.

Mr. Bee slept, snugly tucked between them.


End file.
